


Cowboys

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexual Female Character, Castiel (Supernatural) is Bad at Feelings, Cowboys, Demons, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hunters & Hunting, POV Female Character, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Reader-Insert, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: Y/N meets the Winchesters and Castiel while they are hunting a werewolf. Suspiciously, they seem to have arrived at the time of the Cowboy Western competition, and the friendship sparks fast.





	Cowboys

The two of them were cute, and all, but they were obviously not FBI. You weren’t an idiot, the so-called Agent Plant and Agent Jett were Hunters. Not doing a very good job, considering the werewolf they were hunting was in fact three werewolves. Not that they knew that yet, and you certainly weren’t going to give it away. The shorter of the two looked enthused to be at the Old County Cowboy Weekend, dressed up in what was evidently very over-the-top clothing. The hat was cute though, you’d give him that. The taller of the two looked less happy, more introverted, and a serious frown on his face.

Maybe he wasn’t a cowboy fan. As a standing legacy at this weekend, which happened annually, it was amusing to see other Hunters come. The three werewolves wouldn’t be easy to hunt tonight, the best chance they had was to get them in the woods on the way to town. You would have pointed that out, but your attention was drawn by the Manager, and all-round dickbag, Elliot Willis.

‘Y/N! Ready for the tournament?’ Every year, he pitted people against you. Every year, he lost. It was funny to see, not least amusing to see how much money he had lost betting against you. His eyes wandered, drifting to the knee-high cowboy boots, fishnets and denim shorts. Dressing for style, comfort, and the fact that it was easier to do your damn job when men fell over their feet to help. Now, don’t get em’ wrong, you aren’t exactly stick-thin. Not that it matters, when his eyes drift to the low-cut top and leather jacket. Hair loose around your shoulders, planning on kicking anyone in the groin if they tell you that you’re too “girly” to partake in this “men’s sport”.

‘Definitely. I’ll see you when I’m on the podium, Willis.’ His eyes showed malice, but it was interrupted by someone bumping into your shoulder. Fully ready to kick ass, you spun round, shocked to find a guy in a trench-coat, who looked so out of place that your heart melted slightly. He was cute, not your type, but certainly something to stare at.

‘Sorry, I am afraid I was not looking where I was going, and human festivals are so…’ The blue-eyed Sherlock rattled on, but was silenced when you gave a smile.

‘Don’t worry ’bout it. No harm. You seem a little lost…’ Trailing off, the guy eventually got the hint and gave you his name, a deep gravelly voice.

‘Castiel. And yes, I appear to have lost my companions. They told me to meet them at the costume tent, but I am not sure where that is…’ Quickly deciding that this guy was serious, and also very naive, the kind of persona that people would take advantage of round here, you decided to help Castiel.

‘Y/N. I can show you to the costume tent, if you want?’ Trench-coat seemed pleased, and you started walking through the crowd. A lot of people recognised you, considering you’d been the champion seven years in a row, ever since you turned twenty-one.

‘So, Castiel, are you from around here?’ Grabbing two beers, for free, from the local stand, you handed one to your new friend. He stared at it, probably wondering if you’d done something to the drink. He accepted it, taking a long gulp.

‘No. I live in Kansas.’ Well, it was a long trip. Presumably not just here for the festival, you smiled at him.

‘Business or pleasure?’ His eyes flitted around, as if he were searching for something. Being a Hunter, that kind of attitude seemed suspicious, but not in any of the normal ways. Maybe the guy just didn’t like crowds?

‘Dean would say pleasure. Sam would say business. I suppose I am stuck in the middle.’ That was a lot of information, and you didn’t want to presume any sort of relationship between the three, so stuck to safe grounds.

‘Brothers?’ You asked, walking past the stables. The crowds were busy round here, partly because the tent with the rodeo bull was up ahead. It was the second competition, and people usually loved to see it. You had to admit, it was one of your favourites.

‘They are brothers, and I suppose I am of a sort. They consider me family.’ Sam and Dean. As in, Sam and Dean Winchester? Keeping your heart-rate steady, considering you wouldn’t be a good hunter if you didn’t know who those two were, you approached the costumes tent. It was usually empty by this time, so it wouldn’t be too hard to spot them. If the Winchesters were working the case, you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to be here. Not that you had anything against them, but they had started the apocalypse. Granted, they ended it, but not before you lost your hunting partner.

‘Sounds nice, having a family.’ You commented, trying to engage in conversation, before realising it gave too much away about you. The man looked down at you, but didn’t say anything as you led him into the tent. Sure enough, there were very few people in the tent. The two men you had seen earlier were in here, the shorter one trying to convince the taller to try on a really awful cowboy hat. They must be the Winchesters, better looking that you thought they’d be.

‘Castiel, we thought you’d got lost.’ The shorter one commented, before his gaze turned to you. Rolling your eyes, you realised that the rumours were true, Dean Winchester was a womanizer. Castiel glared at him, before speaking.

‘I did. Y/N was kind enough to help me find you.’ Wondering whether or not they were going to use their fake personas, you offered out a hand to the taller.

‘Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you.’ Dean snatched the hand before his brother had the chance, a smirk crossing his face. Admittedly, it was a good look.

‘Dean. Pleasure.’ Snorting, you snatched your hand back, shaking Sam’s.

‘Sam, sorry about him.’ It wasn’t that bad, just a little cliché, but you didn’t say that.

‘Well Castiel, I’m glad we found your friends. Enjoy the free beer, I’ve got a competition to go to.’ Castiel thanked you, before Dean spoke up,

‘You partake?’ He looked mildly impressed, of course, some of the challenges would be difficult, but it was nothing unbearable.

‘Yeah. Seven-times champion, don’t fancy losing this year.’ Bidding them farewell, you headed out of the tent, pausing at the entrance.

‘There’s three of them, Winchesters.’ And with that, you were out of the tent, and heading in the direction of the first tournament. Shooting, a simple scoped rifle with moving targets. Three would be eliminated from a line-up of ten, and the next seven would go to round two.

Taking your spot along the line-up, you looked to the nine male competitors. None of them had been here last year, so didn’t seem to see you as much of a threat. That was fine, it just made them easier to beat. Picking up the rifle, you were quick to load and cock the weapon, kneeling down and settling it to the correct part of your shoulder. The others were doing the same, and the megaphone called out:

‘Welcome, Cowboys and Girls to the Annual Western Festival. The fight for the champion Cowboy, and the prize money of $5,000, is a sweet, sweet prize. The first challenge, shooting! When your number is called, shoot the target. First three to lose are out!’

Being number seven, you got to see six shots before your own. The first three rounds were always simple, and you kept up with the shots, each time sliding the bolt back and cocking the weapon, readjusting sights. On round three, number five missed the slow-moving target on the truck. He was taken out, and the round continued. On round four, number nine went out. Round five went well, but on round six, numbers 2 and 8 went out. Technically, only one was supposed to, but seeing as they both lost on the same round, they both went out.

Now, it was competing for points. It was relatively simple, up until round eleven, where you were starting to struggle. Considering it was just you and number one left, Willis’s candidate, it didn’t matter too much if you lost this round. When he missed the shot on round twelve, you realised to win, you needed the next shot. Focusing the sight, you lined it up with the target, breathing out ready to take the shot. Finger curled around the trigger, you concentrated looking down the scope. Until someone hit your ass, and you fired the round, watching it go wild as you turned to the guy that had slapped you.

He was drunk, that was obvious. Cursing him silently, you backed away from the fight you didn’t want to start, listening to the megaphone tell you that you were joint top. The other competitor had the decency to look annoyed at the guy, but it didn’t matter. You’d wanted that point, and some arsehole had ruined that.

‘I would’ve hit him.’ Dean commented, leaning against the table as you stripped the weapon down. You looked at him, before looking in the direction of the rodeo tent. Mr Drunk had gone in that direction, but at least he wouldn’t get to touch you now that it was the second round.

‘Not all of us have such a short fuse, Dean.’ You scolded with a smile, before walking towards the tent. Castiel was standing near the front, and you gave him a friendly wave as you joined the other competitors. Only three would go through this round, the idea was to last for five minutes. Most never reached it, and in that case, the longest times would be registered.

Ignoring the other competitors, you thought about Castiel. You’d heard about the Winchesters, which would make Castiel the Angel they lived with. At least your supernatural radar was on point, you thought, watching the first man fall off after a time of one minute and thirty-two seconds. It was funny to watch them fly off in different directions.

‘Nervous?’ Willis’s candidate asked, staring at you. He was tall, probably 6ft2, brown hair and blue eyes. Nice looking, you supposed, if you ignored the fact that he allowed a dick like Willis to own his arse.

‘Not really. You?’ The rodeo was your favourite, and you’d never lost a round. The next round was where you failed, usually due to the cat-calling and insults. It could put people off, it was difficult to concentrate.

‘A little. It’s my least favourite.’ He admitted, and the honesty made you smile.

‘Really? I hate the next round, climbing ropes as fast as you guys is hard. Especially with the comments.’ The fact was, the rope was just as tall for you as the guys. You didn’t mind, it meant that you were being treated the same as the guys. It was just annoying, especially when having to lug your thighs up.

‘I can imagine. Good luck.’ He was up, the other four having fallen off pretty quickly. They introduced him, apparently his name was Daniel, and he climbed up. Gripping the pommel, his face contorted as the creature started to rock. Steady to begin with, until it started working up. You often found the music helped, but he evidently didn’t seem to think so, struggling to keep hold. He managed to outlive the other four, before at four minutes and thirteen seconds, he went spinning off on a particularly harsh buck.

Daniel came out of the ring, cheeks flushed. Clapping his shoulder, you congratulated him and climbed into the ring. Ignoring the whistles, you slung your leg up and pulled. Thirty seconds were given to find your balance, and you spent it wisely. Adjusting your thighs so they sat nicely, you tested the squeezing girth. Placing your hands on your thighs rather than the pommel, you screwed your eyes shut. No need to see, just needed to feel. The last thing you saw was the Angel and the Winchesters, before you let the music guide you.

It was basically like a real horse throwing a benny. With every rock forwards, you dropped your body back, squeezing your thigh muscles to stay on. Every time they dipped back, rearing up, you leant forwards. The music steadied your nerves, especially when the spinning started. Letting go of your thighs, you used them as balance. Hands moved wherever needed to take up the slack, and you happily stayed in place despite the constant assault. As a kid, when learning to ride, you’d got used to being thrown off countless times.

It was odd how the shouting disappeared as you focused. Flicking your eyes opened, you looked to the clock. With thirty seconds left, they were ramping up the speed. A particularly harsh spin and dip had the crowd gasping, especially when your hands shot up to counter-balance. Managing to stay seated, you made awkward eye-contact with the Angel, before you were shooting back up. The timer buzzed, people cheered, and you slipped from the bull.

‘Impressive.’ Daniel commented, and you grinned. With you, Daniel, and a guy called Marcus left, it was time for the third round. Allowing time for a drink-break, you grimaced as you looked up at the rope. 10 points to the winner, 5 for second and 1 for last. You had fifteen from the past two rounds, Daniel had thirteen, and Marcus had 5. He was lucky to get through, and would be luckier if he could manage this. He needed to beat Daniel, and have the man come last. You were through regardless, knowing you’d lose this one.

Lining the three of you up, the megaphone announced the plan. Chalking your hands, you stared at the rope. Daniel gave you a grin, and you turned back. Marcus walked to his, stopping by you.

‘Bet your ass looks good when climbing.’ He sneered, and you ignored him. It wasn’t worth it, rising to the bait would make it worse in so many ways. When the timer sounded, you were off. Sure, you weren’t bad, but your thighs always had other ideas. When you heard a thud to your side, you saw that Marcus had fallen. Daniel was almost at the top, sounding the bell, and you continued to climb. That was until someone started to shake your rope. Squealing, wrapping thighs tightly, people were trying to drag Marcus away. A fight ensued at the bottom, and you were reminded of your awful fear of heights.

‘Cheating whore!’ Marcus shouted, and your heart stilled. Hands feeling numb, head spinning dangerously, and Daniel shouting at you to hold on, you body released the tension. In free-fall, you blacked out, just in time to ignore the pain of hitting the mats.

 

When light came back into your world, many voices were talking. Blue eyes were looking down at you, crouched by the side. Castiel, your mind provided, before you looked to Daniel, who was on your other side. Damn, you must have looked like a right loser falling from that height. Sighing, you sat up, possibly slightly too fast as your head spun.

‘Y/N, you good?’ Daniel asked, placing a hand on your thigh. Too tired to batt it off, you nodded. You were fine, just wanted to get on with the competition.

‘Fine. Let’s get going.’ Daniel offered you a hand, before you noted that Dean and Sam were holding onto Marcus. They released him, the guy storming off. Dean was the first to reach you, scanning your body for injuries.

‘Are you alright, sweetheart?’ The nickname was annoying, but you gave a nod anyway.

‘I believe you bruised three ribs, and possibly have mild-ligament damage to your left ankle. It would be unwise to partake in the last round.’ Castiel, the now definitely an angel, commented. You shrugged, dusting yourself off. You ribs ached, and sure enough, putting weight on your left side was painful, but you didn’t get the cash that you really needed if you wasted out now.

‘I’m fine.’ You stormed/hobbled off, Daniel following you. Two horses had been prepper, tacked up with saddle and bridle ready to ride. It was a simple race, there and back, and the winner would take the cash prize. The rules were actually pretty relaxed on this race, you didn’t have to use the saddle if you didn’t want to. Of course, everyone did. You did as well, until slipping your ankle into the stirrup caused a gasp of pain. Elliot Willis stood on the side, looking smug at the prospect of you not being able to compete. Sliding off the horse, you undid the girth. Taking the saddle off, you remounted the horse. It stilled slightly, letting you test the prospect of not having anything to settle yourself. It would be dangerous to gallop like that, and your ass would hurt for weeks, but where was the fun if there wasn’t a little danger.

‘Are you sure?’ Daniel asked, evidently worried. Ignoring him, you gathered up the reins, placing a hand on the side of the horse’s neck. Hoping to convey everything you wanted to get across, you settled back. When the Clackson sounded, you were off. Daniel was in front almost instantly, but you had a plan. A pretty crappy one, but still. It was hard to stay seated, dust flying up as you tore after him. Reaching the turning point, Daniel went wide, you pulling the horse steady and turning. On the free run home, you reached forwards, balanced precariously. It was hard while trying to balance, but the quick-release bridle gave way, and you were flying.

Letting the horse take charge, it quickly caught up with its friend, and with a simple squeeze, flew past the opponents. Skidding across the line, you steadied to a canter and allowed your legs to relax. People were cheering, but you were thinking about how useful that five grand would be. The horse came to a stop, hands helping you get down and balance. Scowling at Dean, you shoved off his help as you walked to the podium.

The speech was boring, but the cash prize was nice, and you headed to the edge of the festival and pulled out a phone. It dialled quickly, being picked up instantly.

‘I won.’

‘Well done, love.’

‘I’ve got the money. I’ll pop by, make sure it gets to you.’ Keeping your voice steady, even though it was hard to do so when all you wanted to do was cry, you waited for the response.

‘N/N, is it really worth it?’ Ignoring her, you hung up, looking to the trio standing behind you.

‘Drug deal?’ Dean quipped, but you shrugged.

‘Found the werewolves yet?’ You had grabbed your bag from the tent as you’d gone past, putting the cash and the phone in, pulling out a silver knife and standard 9mm gun. They didn’t seem that shocked as you tucked it into your belt, staring at them.

‘We didn’t know there were more than one.’ Rolling your eyes, you hobbled towards the exit.

‘Try the park tonight, they usually hang out by the lake. That’s where the bodies were, anyway.’

 

They listened. They just did it in a stupid fashion. Hiding away, the rifle swung over your shoulder, you focused on one of the werewolves. One brother was scrabbling with a victim, the other trying to shoot the creature that kept moving. Castiel was dealing with his own. Aiming for the heart, you shot the first werewolf, pretending that you didn’t know who they were. Pretending that they weren’t people that you had seen around the town. Re-cocking the weapon, you turned to the one about to get the jump on Sam. He didn’t look impressed when blood sprayed across his face, but at least the werewolf was dead.

Dean got the last one, and you put the safety on your rifle and hobbled out. You’d changed since the festival, opting for blue-frayed jeans, and an AC/DC shirt. Your ankle killed, but you didn’t comment on it as you walked across to them. The Angel had healed the guy, and was probably wiping his memory.

‘We had it covered.’

‘Sure, macho-man.’ You stated, Castiel pressing a hand to your forehead and healing the ankle and ribs. Gasping at the ability to breathe, you thanked him, then wondered… no.

‘I’m guessing you can’t heal brain injuries?’ The Angel cocked his head, before explaining that was out of his abilities. Trying to look nonchalant, you headed towards your bike. The three of them stared at the bodies, then to you.

‘Are you not going to help?’ Dean asked, and you turned.

‘I need to get going, I have somewhere to be.’ Dean’s look turned icy, possibly because you had just intruded on his hunt.

‘Oh yeah? That drug thing?’ Why he’d presumed it was drugs, you didn’t know.

‘My little sister is dying of brain damage, and I need the cash to pay the hospital. So yeah, drugs.’ It came out harsh, but you didn’t really care. Your sister was your responsibility, she was the only family you had left. Dean had fell silent, looking awkward.

‘Sorry, that was uncalled for.’ You finally said, before walking back to the werewolf bodies. They seemed surprised, Dean laying a hand on your shoulder.

‘We can manage.’ For some reason, tears were threatening to break from your eyes, after all this time, you still couldn’t save her. The money wasn’t going to help, she was never going to get better. You knew that.

‘Just let me do it! I just need to be able to do something.’ Biting you lip to stop the tears, you thought to the blonde-haired girl on the hospital bed, having not woken up in seven years. Dean stepped back, allowing you to drag the body towards the pile. It didn’t give you any satisfaction at all, watching them burn. Even when they were reduced to ashes, you couldn’t find anything pleasant from the experience.

‘I’ll see you around.’ You commented, heading towards the bike. It was parked behind the Impala, a beautiful car, but you didn’t say that as you loaded your rifle onto the back.

‘Kid, are you sure you should be driving right now?’ Dean asked, and you suddenly realised that you had been crying. Tears, silent, yet really quite deadly.

‘I need to see her.’ The words wobbled, knowing that there wasn’t any point as you sunk down against the floor, curling up and ignoring the world as the pressure in your head got too much.

**Author's Note:**

> So, who do you ship Y/N with? I can do different chapters for different ships


End file.
